


The Temple

by Max_Mercury773



Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:39:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13763334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Max_Mercury773/pseuds/Max_Mercury773
Summary: He won't call it a regret. Not until after everything's said and done.





	The Temple

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea why this exists but it does.

Dusk, and a lone traveler sits under the protection of the temple with nothing to do but wait for the rain to pass. Leaning back on his hands, he draws one leg up close to his chest and scowls at the angry sky.

Cawing crows and ill-made chimes swell and crack with the thunder to create a blanket of white noise. The paper lanterns sway with the wind and the lamplight they cast makes the shadows dance. And that's where the traveler stays, closer overall to rain than to shelter, the undulating gloom and the wet nipping at the edges of his blue striped yukata from either end.

With nothing better to do with his time, the traveler picks at the peeling red lacquer at the base of the pillars. Each of his fingers has red wedged underneath the nail by the time the doors slide open and something smacks his shoulder. Not hard enough to hurt but his fingers twitch for something sharp regardless.

“Enough of that,” chides the priestess, straw broom in hand, “unless you plan on putting on a new coat? If that’s the case then chip away. The pillars have been looking rather dingy.”

The traveler makes it a point of straightening up, crossing his legs, and placing his hands primly in his lap - glaring daggers all the while.

The miko goes back to her sweeping but he doesn’t hear the doors close.

“You’re young.”

“And grass is green.”

“Oh, he speaks. With as many times as you’ve visited our temple, you haven’t made so much as a peep until now. I thought you might’ve been mute.”

“It’s monsoon season,” he murmurs. “That’s the only reason I’m here.”

“I see. No interest in _kami_ I take it?”

The stranger offers no response, dark eyes staring way off into the distance.

“Well, if you don’t mind indulging an old maid...” He assumes she means old in spirit since there’s barely a wrinkle on her face and her hair is the same ink black as his. “...what’s your name?”

“Kai.”

“Where are you from?”

A sharp sigh and the traveler purses his lips. “Nowhere important.”

“...Quite the petulant little brat, aren’t you?”

The shrine maiden’s questions, innocent though they may be, grasp at the things he wants to forget and things he refuses to feel. His anger flares and, though it’s mostly on accident, he puts an end to her curiosity.

Looking dead at her, face full of hate and spite and all the things he knows makes the kind-hearted folk sprint in the opposite direction, he snarls, “Mind your own damn business.”

Like every other girl in existence who laid eyes on him, her face flushes beet red all the way to her ears but the shadows make her expression more than a little unnerving. Suddenly, he’s very aware of how tall she is. Looming over him, her mouth twists into an ugly sneer, nose scrunches up, eyes taking on a hard glimmer.

 A fleeting thought enters his head on how wrong it seems for a priestess to have such an expression.

“Well, I was going to offer you tea and shelter but you seem to be awfully comfortable out here in the cold so I’ll take my leave,” she hisses.

The screen door slides shut.

Sighing, the traveler shifts so that his back is pressed up against a pillar and he’s facing the screen doors. As quickly as it’d struck him, the anger fades and that feeling of empty cold creeps in. It’s the only familiar thing for miles and he takes comfort in it. So much comfort in fact that he dozes off into a fitful sleep.

He wakes what seems like seconds later to the shrine maiden calling his name.

The storm has passed and the sky is a spectrum of whites, blues, and gray. She’s on her haunches right outside of strangling distance, stone-faced. In her outstretched hand are three wooden boxes wrapped up in an expensive red silk scarf with golden embroidery.

“For your travels.”

For once in his life, his surprise must have shown on his face because the miko rolls her eyes and hoists herself up. A warm sensation spreads from his chest down to his fingertips and toes, fantastic and terrible and all too recognizable.

“Sell the scarf if you need to,” she says. “It’ll buy you a few meals.”

Quickly, he unties the scarf, tucking the bento boxes under his arm, and hands it back. “Keep it, I won’t be walking very far.”

She, begrudgingly, accepts it.

“And…” he starts, voice cracking as he bows, “I apologize for snapping.” It sounds half as sincere as he intends but it has the desired effect. Her brow furrows and she stands there, arms crossed, obviously weighing the pros and cons of forgiving a moody, ill-mannered nonbeliever.

He assumes kindness beats out common sense because she steps to the side and motions for him to follow her inside. “I was about to make breakfast.”

“I should go.” Already halfway down the slick, stone steps he jerks his head toward the temple with a wry smile. “My kind aren’t allowed in places like that anyway.”

Understanding widens her eyes and the color drains from her face.

He turns on his heel and stalks off toward the gray.

And when the walking, talking baby blue-eyed paragon of moral righteousness and deranged, obsessive perseverance comes barreling to the forefront of his mind, Sasuke lets it win for the last time. He lets himself sink into the tugging warmth of nostalgia while droplets of rain drip from the overhanging tree leaves and steadily numb his skin.

He arrives at Orochimaru's hideout a mere two days later.


End file.
